


Door #1

by torch



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-21
Updated: 2005-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torch/pseuds/torch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damien is getting quite familiar with Gerald's... quirks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Door #1

**Author's Note:**

> They wouldn't. Would they? Written as a birthday present for C. Possibly set much much later in the same universe as _Before the face of the sun_. Possibly not. Beta by elynross.

Damien closed the door, turned around, and was about to say something about dinner when Gerald grasped him by the shoulders and pushed, quite hard, until the door panels were pressing into Damien's back and he could feel the buttons on Gerald's shirt dig into his chest. The door was sturdy enough that it barely trembled in its frame, with Damien's full weight against the wood, and Gerald's full weight against Damien. Gerald looked at him, intently, with darkening eyes, and Damien tipped his head back against the door and held still and let himself be seen.

The touch of fingertips to his jaw was no surprise; familiar now, this touch of fine skin against coarse stubble, familiar and always welcome. Gerald's fingers outlined Damien's face, curved about his jaw as if shaping it into being, and Gerald's thumb brushed over Damien's mouth, pressing the lower lip down. Damien smiled.

Behind Gerald, a single lamp shone, backlighting honey-colored hair into a burnished smoothness more reminiscent of a helmet than a halo. Not the Prophet, this, but the general; Damien knew that look. He rather enjoyed most of the behavior that went with it, too.

When the pressure of Gerald's thumb on his lip grew stronger, Damien flicked the tip of his tongue against it, tasting skin and a faint trace of leather from Gerald's gloves. He licked again, with the flat of his tongue this time, and tried to draw it into his mouth, but Gerald pulled away and ran his hand up under Damien's loose shirt until he could brush his wet thumb over Damien's nipple.

Damien sighed with pleasure and moved into the touch, pressing his body against Gerald's but still with the back of his head resting against the door. He watched Gerald's eyes, bright and focused, watched Gerald think about his next move. Damien tipped his head back a little further and shifted his stance, spreading his legs. Gerald shot him a quick look that was half sardonic, half aroused, and bit his neck.

Damien shifted again, moving into it, body and awareness both lifting into the sharp pleasure. Gerald brushed his thumb over Damien's nipple in a slow rhythm, while his mouth worked against Damien's neck, licking, sucking, biting. His hair fell forward across his bent neck, the fine ends tickling Damien's skin. Damien hummed low in his throat as Gerald pushed his thigh in between Damien's legs, spreading them even wider. When Damien rocked his hips against Gerald's in answer, the door creaked. Slow pressure of teeth made Damien shudder, and the door creaked again, louder.

When the door creaked for the third time, Gerald tugged him forward with a hand on his hip, the fingers of his other hand still moving across Damien's chest. Not really wanting to tumble backwards out into the hallway of the hotel, Damien followed, pushing forward just enough that Gerald didn't really have to use any force to get him to move.

The bed was low, just about knee-height, for Damien, and almost square. Damien turned under Gerald's hands, reading every move with easy precision, like sparring, which he had always excelled at, like dancing, which he had always been very, very bad at. Just before Gerald's palm pressed against his chest, Damien fell backwards, stretching out across the bed. He looked up at Gerald, meeting that sharp mirror-shard gaze without difficulty, and then lifted his arms, putting them above his head, wrists decorously crossed.

There was a scant heartbeat of silence and stillness, and then Gerald followed him down, dark-eyed and determined. Damien closed his eyes as he was stripped with ruthless efficiency of everything but his shirt, which was merely ripped open and pushed off his shoulders. He kept his arms and shoulders on the bed, but shifted minutely into every touch, pushing up against Gerald's hands with a slow, easy ripple, a deep breath, a sigh. Gerald's teeth were wickedly gentle against his throat. Gerald's tongue burned, like being licked by a hot coal. There was an urgency in Gerald's hands, in his touch, that went straight to Damien's bones.

Damien said yes, quietly, to that urgency, quick to ease into the position Gerald's hands chose for him, slow to let go when Gerald moved to pull back, to unfasten his own clothes, to reach for one of the packs at the foot of the bed. Anything beyond the bare necessities could wait. He opened his eyes just as Gerald slid an oil-slick hand between his legs, and kept his gaze locked with Gerald's for every slippery, stretched-out moment; then Gerald pressed forward, and Damien's eyes slid shut against the rush of sensation.

He could feel Gerald's open shirt trail across his belly with every blunt thrust, could feel his skin shiver with that light touch, almost as intense a sensation as the way sparks leaped and twisted along his spine with each deep movement of Gerald inside him. His body was still saying yes, moving into Gerald's, moving faster. The pressure of his right wrist against his left seemed the only thing keeping him on the bed. Sweat trickled down his neck.

Then Gerald trailed his fingers down Damien's chest, across his belly, teased gently and easily and then grasped and _stroked_ , and it wasn't sparks any more, it was fire, hot and true and overwhelming, and all he needed.

* * *

He came back to himself in languid satiety, body still floating on the last slow waves of pleasure. Gerald was sprawled half on top of him, propped up on one elbow with the hand of that arm curved under the back of Damien's neck, brushing feather-light kisses over Damien's face: eyelids, cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. Damien blinked his eyes open at a leisurely pace and smiled a little.

"It still amazes me," Gerald said, speaking very softly against Damien's lips, "that you always manage to be so..."

Damien tried his best innocent look. "Yielding?"

Gerald gave him a flat stare back. "The word I was looking for was aggressive."

Damien grinned, and pulled Gerald down into a kiss. "Next time," he said softly, "we're going to explore that concept a bit more." A muscle in Gerald's shoulder tensed under his hand. "I'm pretty sure you can be that aggressive, too. If you try hard."


End file.
